Talk Shop

The deconstruction of language, the connection between voice, sound, and text, irony as a tool of disorientation and critique, the centrality of the artist’s body in performing her compositions, and the ability to re-write established ideas: these are some of the elements that define Hanne Lippard’s artistic practice, as well as her latest recorded work, Talk Shop. Hosted by Settantaventidue¹, Lippard presented the work in Milan this November by reading excerpts to an attentive audience. The event marked the fifth release in the Sussurra Luce series, curated by Francesco Cavaliere and Massimo Torrigiani and produced by Dischi Fantom². The Talk Shop edition is limited to 200 copies and comes with an LP-format booklet. Additionally, a special limited edition of 50 copies features a transparent, hand-etched vinyl without labels and a signed artwork by the artist.

Hanne Lippard, Talk Shop, 10" inch artist edition, 2024

Hanne Lippard, Talk Shop, 10" inch artist edition, 2024Hanne Lippard has consistently explored the word, viewing it not only as a vehicle for meaning but as a phenomenon that engages physicality, sound, and space. This perspective shapes her choice of voice as her primary medium, enabling her to investigate language in connection to themes of alienation, repetition, and the human condition in a world defined by digitalization and the capitalist economy. At the heart of Talk Shop, as the title implies, lies a reflection on the human voice as an object of consumption. In an era where synthetic voices mediate our interactions with digital devices and virtual assistants, the voice shifts from a marker of individuality to a depersonalized, utilitarian tool. Through loops and repetitions, Lippard intensifies the obsession with efficiency that defines post-industrial life, transforming words and phrases into hypnotic rhythms suspended between the mechanical and the human. Exploring the tension between intimacy and depersonalization, her voice—warm, seductive, feminine, and at times melancholic—echoes that of a virtual assistant more than that of an actual person.

Hanne Lippard, Talk Shop, 12” vinyl LP, 2024

Her performance at Settantaventidue incorporates numerous wordplays and expressions that resonate with a life shaped by digital language: from the opening “Rejection Letter Sample,” a guide outlining the steps for crafting an effective rejection, to the repetitive phrases and hummed loops in “No Networks,” where Lippard iterates variations of the same phrase. These linguistic games extend in “Home Work,” where “work from home” morphs into “work in the home,” then “work at home,” and “work from him and near her,” to other variations exposing the infinite possibilities for reorganizing words. Phrases like “Give a gift of love to someone you love today” in “Gift Shop” where each word is pronounced followed by a brief pause that emphasizes the individual presence of the words in isolation rather than their collective meaning within the sentence, alternate with loops such as “Every elevator available,” repeated at varying speeds and interrupted sharply at one point by the word “Escalator.” Through these fragmented elements, Lippard disorients the listener: whose voice is this? What is it saying?

Her work navigates the ambiguous territory of language where words, rather than being fixed tools of communication, become objects to be deconstructed, fragmented, and recomposed, uncovering their inherent contradictions and layered meaning depending on context. In doing so, she invites the listening spectator to pay closer attention, to really listen, and to interrogate how language is shaped in a digital, algorithmic world where automation and efficiency modify how words are spoken and understood. At the same time, she reminds us that, hidden within the loops and repetitive rhythms of standardization, a possibility for genuineness remains.

In Talk Shop, repetition functions as both a stylistic choice and a critical tool: Lippard delves into words’ sonic and semantic potential while simultaneously exposing the dynamics of alienation that permeate contemporary society. Drawing on an approach akin to that outlined by Gilles Deleuze in Difference and Repetition (1968), each iteration does not merely replicate but transforms the meaning of words, amplifying the inherent tensions within language. This process creates an auditory experience that transcends language as a vehicle of meaning. Words do not narrate a story or deliver an explicit message but instead reveal layers of potential meanings. This layered exploration is mirrored in Lippard’s use of voice, which is paradoxical: on the one hand, her vocal presence is dominant, guiding the listener’s experience; on the other hand, the voice is neither personal nor expressive, becoming instead a medium that stages the contradictions of contemporary language and communication. In this sense, Lippard’s voice functions as both a sonic trace—a connecting element that gives sound to written texts—and a device that “installs” itself, structuring the listener’s experience, filling the space, and creating an environment.

When discussing Lippard’s practice, it is impossible to ignore the dimension of time and duration. Time is shaped by her voice, which creates a subjective sense of duration through iterations, pauses, and silences—all integral elements of her practice’s grammar. These techniques allow the artist to prolong the moment, inviting the listener into a continuous flow where time unpredictably expands and contracts. This relationship with time during her performances is deeply intertwined with her body and its gestures. Lippard reads her texts from A4 sheets, emphasizing the medium’s materiality: each time she finishes a text, she drops the page to the floor. The sound and texture of the accumulating paper beneath and around her become an integral part of the performance. This performative poetics is also present in the record Talk Shop, where an entire track is dedicated to the sound of paper sheets falling to the floor.

If, through her voice, Lippard translates written language into spoken words, her body becomes the vehicle for the texts, imbuing it with layers of complexity—identity, physicality, and presence. During her performances, she pauses, slowly parts her lips, adjusts her hair, and shifts her gaze, yet never directly meets the eyes of the audience. She is present but simultaneously seems distant, elsewhere, never fully engaged with those in front of her. Her voice seems far away even when spoken at close range, cold even when addressing the emotional. These contradictions transform the performance into a space for questioning the very nature of communication and language. At this point, one can only conclude with a sense of incredulity by quoting one of her lines from Talk Shop: “This is a text, is it?”

Giulia Zompa is an art historian and critic based in Milan.